


The One Where Serenity Gets a Bathtub

by recrudescence



Category: Firefly
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 14:40:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recrudescence/pseuds/recrudescence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of Safe, the ship still smells like cows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Co-written with Nakeno.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[firefly fic](http://community.livejournal.com/all_very_doable/tag/firefly+fic), [mal/simon](http://community.livejournal.com/all_very_doable/tag/mal/simon)  
  
---|---  
  
_**The One Where Serenity Gets a Bathtub**_  
**Title:** The One Where Serenity Gets a Bathtub  
**Fandom:** Firefly  
**Pairing: **Mal/Simon  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Disclaimer:** We do not own or profit from any of the source material.  
**Summary:** After the events of Safe, the ship still smells like cows.  
**Word Count:** 7,054

Now that the cunningly concealed cows are gone, the accompanying stench needs to go too.

"I am going to buy soap. In _bulk_," vows Simon. He would if he could, anyway. Scour the entire ship until it no longer smells like a barn. For now, the least he can do is air out _himself_ and drag as many people along as possible. There’s no reason to avoid a bathhouse at this junction.

Mal, with his face turning into a sour scowl, reaches forward and snaps up the exorbitant amount needed for a single admission directly from Dr. _Tam's _neat-pressed vest pocket. His expression is just _asking_ to be challenged on the point.

Simon merely shrugs. "You'll understand if I'm finding the idea of water appealing just now." Being a second away from burned alive will do that to someone, after all. Even though Jiangyin's safely behind them, that still means Serenity reeks of _cows_, and now that they've made planetfall again Simon's determined to _eliminate_ that.  
  
---  
  
"You'll understand if I have a funny notion to _drown_ you in aforementioned water," but there's less heat in his voice. More preoccupied. Thumbing through the vividly inked Alliance bills. No way around it-- you wanna travel a loosely Alliance-ran world, then you did so with not so loose Alliance-like bills.

"And be out a free medic?" Blithely. "I wonder if I could convince Jayne..." As if it's an actual possibility. Jayne probably grew up in a barn anyway.

One eyebrow slants over a dark-blue eye, the other moving _up_ Mal’s forehead instead, before the captain turns away from Simon and strides off in the opposite direction altogether. There are worse things to be prescribed than a bath.

Still, _wo de **ma**_, it's been... a _while_. Honest-to-God _water_ against his skin, lapping over his waist, up along his abdomen after he'd scrubbed himself damn well _pink_. Took some _layers_ with him, of that he's sure. But, has to admit, doc might not be wrong about it-- with his head lolled back limply against the copper rim of the tub, steam in the lungs, out the lungs. _Boneless_.

While he's out of them, Mal's clothes get _laundered_. The usually worn-soft material having had something added to them that creates a whole _new_ layer of soft-- and _smell_\-- that wasn't there before. Makes him crinkle his nose. He's not sure he likes it much.

Simon, in the meantime, scrubs till his skin's the color of a lobster and he feels like he's been peeled, but sinking into a real, true _bathtub_ full of scalding-hot water is worth it.

Would it be too much to have at least one bathtub on Serenity as opposed to nothing but those stark, standard showers? They could make room. They could use _his_ room. He has a feeling he’s dangerously close to falling asleep and drowning, but lifting his head an extra inch just requires too much exertion.

Until the captain's got a fistful of that fancy-dancy hair, dripping and wet as it is, and is tipping the doc's head back. Rather uncomfortably.

He gurgles. Inhales a mouthful of blissfully hot, delicately scented, revoltingly foul-tasting foam and sputters bathwater all over the place trying to get a word out.

Taking stock, discarding opponents in turn. Not being arrested or kidnapped again. Good. Just the captain. _Why_, and why he couldn't have tapped him on the shoulder, Simon doesn't know. "_Mal_. Can I...help you?" As he’s trying to glare at him upside down.

And Mal brings his now-damp hand upside the back of that same head-- not too roughly, but not exactly gently, either. After all, he just toweled off, thanks so much. "Yeah. By _not_ swallowing your dead weight in water, mm?"

"I was _relaxing_." Not as if Mal's seen him doing much of it before; maybe it really did look like a near-death experience. "What are you even _doing _here?"

"Funny. Looked a lot like drowning." Mal's got his pants on, barefooted, hair damp-limp with humidity, shirt over one arm, collecting damp splotches, suspenders in a knot.

"Your compassion moves me. Truly." Really, it just moves him to sink a little deeper into the tub and try not to stare.

Mal straightens, more or less standing over the other now before fetching into his pocket with index and middle finger, plucking free loose bills. They flutter weakly. He moves over where Simon has his clothes waiting on a marble-smooth bench and visibly tucks them into a pocket in that vest.

"You could have waited to give me back my change." Now he just sounds sulky. Mal is not going to ruin this for him, not now that he's finally stolen a few moments for himself.

If he'd been less than satisfied with the whole service, Mal figures might have kept the change for himself. As it is, the kid did nearly lose his skin to medic-hungry hillfolk. He's not _completely_ ignorant to the advantages of having a medic who works merely for the board. "Could have."

Mal sounds gruff as he always does when conversation's not something he's after. But the money is back in Simon's pocket and the captain does look as if he's made the most of his time here--is this _gratitude_? Simon smiles a little, but only to himself. Outwardly, he closes his eyes and slumps further underwater, seriously considering petitioning to have one brought onboard. _Somehow_. "Well. Thank you." Mal doesn't actually seem to be _goin_g anywhere and the temptation to bring up his opinion is strong. Instead, he says, "Is something the matter or did you plan on scrubbing my back?" If anyone needs medical assistance right this second, he'd have told him already, wouldn't he?

"Am I interrupting your drowning time?" Clink of metal on the bench, suspenders, then his shirt draped there; undoing his pants' buttons one by one in order to pull his shirt on and tuck it in when he does so.

He opens his eyes in time to catch an unsettling glimpse of Mal opening his pants, and admittedly that makes him start. But...no, nothing to worry about, just the captain covering up all that bare, brown, scrubbed-clean skin with his shirt. "I wasn't aware we were in a hurry." Or that he would be getting both an audience and a show.

"We're not." Simply. "All the same..." Small buttons of his shirt done up, trousers following now: one button at a time. "Best get out of that water soon-ish." Mal's shrugging into the suspenders, barefoot still, but his boots nowhere to be seen. "Y'know... before you wrinkle." Which, by his tone alone, seems to be something the captain finds amusing to think on..

And Simon slams his eyes shut and clenches his jaw, trying to broadcast a beacon that blares "I'm relaxing!" firmly enough for Mal to take a hint and leave him alone. "I think I'll take that risk." None too comfortable with the captain standing around shooting the breeze while he's naked and alone--Mal's never been inclined to engage him in much casual conversation before, and starting now is a little precipitous.

Mal has to admit, it did feel nice-- all clean and scrubbed that way. Like he's been shucked new again, and he can recall, quite clearly the look on the doc's face when he'd went into detail about the scent of him. Though he does leave Simon to the rest of his time in the bath.

\--

Showering is one thing, soaking and scrubbing is another-- sheds away all those sun-tinged layers of skin ready to peel away, makes Mal a little paler under the fresh, healthy tinge of newly found pink. Simon had taken cleaning solution to every flat surface in the cargo hold, trying to clean away the bovine smell that-- in his opinion-- had infiltrated every molecule of the ship. Mal's hair is damp, still, and his clothes feel good and fresh against his skin-- he's not so sure about that clothing softener that's been added, but he supposes he'll live.

The infirmary is empty save for the doctor-- with his head ducked and various drawers and implements opened and scattered, rearranging. Mal strolls right in without invitation, pausing there and lifting his arms from his sides, dark-blue eyes dancing, "Better?" After all, wouldn't do to _offend_ the doctor's sensitive nose every time he passed now would it?

"Much. Thanks." Still be better with a bathtub of their own, though. "I think we might need more disinfectant." He knows _he_'s sparkling clean and he's not going to let Serenity sink her dirty claws into him again for as long as he can fend them off. Even as he's thinking it, he knows it's the sort of thing that would make Kaylee flounce off in a huff if he were to say it out loud.

Mal just drops his arms to his side, an eyebrow quirked and a slight smirk on his lips. "I meant me. ...Unless you did, too." He uses a thumb to catch up a bit of his shirt and bring it to his nose, inhaling before his face crinkles some, slowly wiping his hand off as if he might be able to get rid of that clothing-softener smell in this manner. "My clothes smell funny." He’s still kind of annoyed about it. "Like... flowers or somethin'. It's unseemly." After all, how is he supposed to threaten a man's life when he smells like a _bouquet_?

That makes Simon look up curiously. It seems like the sort of thing Jayne would say. "You're not familiar with fabric softener?" Cheap and a little cloying, he'd noticed when collecting his own clothes, but better than _cow_.

 

He crosses his arms across his chest, "I am. Doesn't mean I have to _like it_. I smell like a ruttin' wedding."

.

"I'm sure you'll be reeking of intimidation in no time. How difficult would it be to have a bathtub installed?" Well. The second part just kind of slipped out

Mal's mouth opens, then closes, frowning slowly as he eases his weight from one foot to the other. "...Never gave it much thought-- can't afford it. Bet that would make you all manner of giddy, though, wouldn't it?" He can't help but smile slightly at the idea.

He's prepared to defend the idea by reeling off all the useful qualities they could enjoy, but somehow it all dries up when Mal actually _doesn't_ shoot the idea down right off the bat. "That's one word for it, yes."

He merely shakes his head. Plainly, "Can't afford it."

"But it would be possible, wouldn't it? If you could." Mal's made some unconventional bargains before, and life on this ship isn't ever _predictable_, so if circumstances somehow made the option _feasible..._

Mal just raises an eyebrow, "I _can't_. Besides, where would you suggest we _put it_\-- _if_ we could afford it?" The captain doesn't wait for an answer, reaching up to knuckle an eye as the other hand makes a dismissive gesture, turning away for the door.

Oh, there are so many places. If Mal's _asking_ him, that means this might be a possibility, however remote. "Well, I--" Mal's turning to go and Simon just blurts out everything at once. "The dimensions of the showers should allow for a small one. Or a bigger one, if we convert one of the passenger dorms. Lay down tile." Well aware how silly he sounds, like he's fourteen all over again and whining for a dedicated source box.

Mal grips the threshold as he passes, pausing, clapping it there lightly-- once, twice... A tub is the last thing he's thinking about when he's turning back around, getting about two steps in while his hands grip his belt, thumbing the metal of the buckle, "You all right? I mean, no one has asked formally, seeing as how you'd be the one that would usually ask, but we don't have a doctor for the doctor, so...." Awkward. _Ugh_, why does he have to sound so _awkward_?

If bathing has the effect of washing away some of Mal's more acrid tendencies, that's yet another reason to look into making it a more regular occurrence. "Oh." Of course, he's not sure how to _respond_ to it. It's clear this isn't a question about something as mundane as washing his hair. "I've been better," he says honestly. It's been over a week now and he's still waking up to check on River ten times a night, as if he's going to find nothing but a pile of ashes on her bed. "This helped."

Mal fits his hands safely into his pockets, tilting his head and _staring_ levelly at Simon for a long moment, as if he's not sure whether or not to take the boy at his word. "Surprised me, really. I expected to find you beaten, a rib or two broken, at the very least I figured you'd have taken hold of one of those torches, trying to burn them right back…didn't take much account of you just... givin' up."

Ah. There's the winning personality he's so used to. "Did you miss the part where there were at least fifty of them and we had nowhere to go even if we did somehow escape?" Tartly.  Even though he knows it was necessary, he hasn't quite come to terms with the fact that Serenity actually had left without them. And he's not about to tell Mal just how hard that had hit him.

"I didn't miss that part-- just didn't expect you to just... not..." Mal keeps his eyes on Simon's face, narrowing them some, shoulders rising and falling. "Not try. Whatever the odds. Being overcome is slightly different from standing there and willingly allowing yourself to go up in flames..." Mal drops his head some, stares at Simon through his lashes, intense and quiet.

Simon doesn't have to explain himself. He doesn't need to _care_ if Mal thinks he's a limp-wristed weakling. But the insinuation licks through him like a slowly burning flame and Simon feels his teeth grit. "I tried." Maybe not in the same way Mal would have, but he had. When push came to shove, he'd rather have died with River than let her die alone.

Mal turns his head some, breaking that eye contact, lips pressing together in a thin line before Mal's gaze darts to the floor. Nodding. Just the once. "As you say, doctor," plainly, meaning to let the subject drop altogether. The captain turns on a heel, at the doorway, before he reaches for the lit panel there at the threshold-- a few deft keystrokes before the automatic door slides shut. Seals. The slats of the windows fall into place, effectively blocking outside viewing-- as Simon would do if he needed to provide intimate medical service. Mal's mouth twists to the side, fingers tapping on the metal thoughtfully before he turns from the door and takes the short distance between Simon and himself.

"I didn't think you expected much of me at...all." Simon trails off when the captain moves towards him, not looking for a fight or a lecture, just..._looking_. He almost forgets he's supposed to be feeling annoyed that Mal doesn't seem to think he loves his sister enough to fight for her. "You can't possibly know--" he begins, softly, like he can _make_ him understand through sheer force of will, but the words are already getting swallowed up by surprise and Mal is _kissing_ him. Light-lipped and smelling like bargain fabric softener.

As Mal presses his hands into his pockets again, as deeply as possible, fingers curled in on themselves while he wets his lips. He doesn't... reach out, or touch him, or hold him steady or anything else one usually does when they kiss somebody. He just sort of... hesitantly leans in and tips his head just a fraction and lets their mouths... brush. _Touch_. Hardly making contact. Mal's brow is furrowed and his eyes are open to not much other than a slit of glittering cobalt light. He seems to think it over, and draws a hand from his pocket to touch along the line of Simon's jaw-- kiss him again. Light, but firmer than before, no tongue, no parting of lips, just a slight sigh on Mal's part and he draws his hand back first, then lets his mouth follow. This time, Mal's eyes are closed and his mouth is partially open and he uses the tip of his tongue to slip across his top, then bottom lip, exhaling slow. Murmuring. To _himself_. "Yeah, I thought you'd--..." And trailing off. Then, to _Simon_ with a smirk. "Sorry. But I didn't want to kick myself for not doing it at least _once_\-- just in case I'm not there to bail you out of oncoming danger, just in case you're 'trying' just as hard as you were this last time. Which, I mean to say, means you'll be dead and I'll have missed the opportunity."

Maybe facetiously suggesting Mal scrub his back in the bath house hadn't been too far off the mark. But he'd never had any indication _what_soever that the captain looked on him as anything but a sheltered kid with the potential to be a decent crew member and a touch of hero-worship for him. "I thought you _left_," is all he can utter, letting the full fury sink into the words. "You had to see to the Shepherd, I know that _now_, but at the time I didn't think you were coming back." Unconsciously drawing a knuckle across his lower lip, brow furrowing. The feel of Mal's mouth and the sound of his apology--_apology_, dear God, there must have been _something_ in that bathwater--still being absorbed.  "You have a strange way of showing your affection. Captain."

Mal presses his lips together, eases his hand back into his pocket at lets one shoulder rise and fall. "Had to give it a go at least once..." He turns from Simon now, and once he's a few steps in the clear, he trusts himself to bring his hand clear of his pocket again, to lightly touch his own mouth where Simon's had touched... pink and sweet and _soft_. Like he knew he'd be. Knew that's would it would be like to kiss him. _Perfect_ like that. Tasting sweetly-- of course, Mal had kept his lips closed, never parting, not until afterwards, but he imagines he can taste Simon's lips lingering there on his own.

The panel chirps happily, the door sliding open, the slats of the blinds slip-clicking open again. "Next time, just know I mean to come back for you." Mal levels a look over his shoulder, quiet and serious. "I'll come back. ..._Dong ma_?"

Mal slips out of the infirmary, not looking back as he speaks, "If you think maybe we could manage a tub, speak to Kaylee about it..." Just like that. Like he'd not said what he'd just said. Like he had not just _kissed_ the other...

Simon stares after him, everything around him having gone dreamlike and vague. "All right." Not sure what, exactly, he's answering and why he can't take his eyes off the doorway long after the captain's disappeared through it.

\--

Later that day, at chow, Mal doesn't look at him any differently. Or speak to him any differently. Doesn't do _anything_ differently. Whatsoever. Just passes the biscuits and doesn't say a word.

Simon, on the other hand, studies him carefully. Especially his mouth. He should have said something, responded s_omehow_, before. Intimacy hasn't ever been something he's excelled at, even when it _isn't_ dropped on him like an anvil. Instead of feeling conflicted, he turns to Kaylee and mentions the captain's given the go-ahead for installing a tub. Safer to discuss it with her in front of everyone instead of alone with her, even though he sees Jayne leer out of the corner of his eye.

Kaylee, who hops up and hugs the captain and, sitting back down, looks like she wants to hop up and hug _him_.

Inara makes some comment about wonders never ceasing, Mal throws back some remark about putting an embargo on smelling up the shower room in the name of hygiene, and it's just like any other meal.   
 

Mal _is_ blinking at Simon now, eyebrows raised and his mouth lax. He raises a finger, "Now... now wait a minute, I said _if_... _if_, by some... miracle... you might be able to find a _deal_ on one, to _affo_\--"

"Oh, I'm sure Simon and I could work something out." Inara now. Smiling gently. At _Simon_, which makes a very... _unhappy_... expression flit over Mal's features for a second. Missed by everyone, he's sure…except for Simon.

"Don't get one of those sissy little barrel-sized ones," Jayne cautions, very concerned.

Mal looks confused for a second, blinking at Jayne before he turns back to Simon, "Work something out, _how_...?"

And Simon looks over at Mal, eyebrows raised. "I think as the captain you should have the final say as it is."

River just proceeds to rattle off the dimensions of the shower room.

And Mal wonders what "having the final say" means. Wandering around a...tub store and lying in each one in turn? He ducks his head, going red in the face some before he draws up a hand and scrubs it across his face, looking to Kaylee. "Never mind, that-- Kaylee, what do you think of this?"

"Don't think it'll be a problem at all, capt'n; it'll be easy-peasy!"

Which makes Mal's expression go a little sour. His eyes move to Inara. _Pinning_. "Tubs are hardly _cheap_..."

"No one asked for your concern on that subject, Mal. Simon and I will be fine on our own." The corners of Mal's lips pull down a little, his hand tightening around his chopsticks.

The captain stares down into his plate, prodding his food around a bit before shaking his head, sighing, "Whatever. Not like I own the damn ship or anything." He pushes his plate away from himself, standing; "Just make sure no huge mess comes of it." He moves his eyes to Simon, intent. "Understand?"

Simon meets his gaze, studying what he finds there and not altogether certain what to make of it. "Of course not."

Mal nods, picks up his plate and carries it into the kitchen, mumbling to himself as he dumps his plate clean. "...looks like we're getting a tub."

Simon won't ever say that they're making this purchase because of him, that Mal feels some sort of regret about unwittingly leaving him and his sister to burn, because that would be the quickest way to make the captain change his mind. But just to himself, when he's alone, he does think about it. And whatever the gesture is meant to indicate--he hasn't entirely figured it out yet, as is so often the case with Mal--he thinks he can enjoy it.

\--

They all pitch in, but when it comes to  installing the thing, Kaylee ends up doing the bulk of the work. Trying to get the plumbing right, engaging Simon for some help, and he finds himself just stuttering away when she accidentally douses herself with a jet of water that comes bursting out of the pipe. Dashing off to get towels, of _course _he ends up running into Mal, who finds it hilarious that a soaking-wet girl gets him into this state.

"Have an accident, doc, or are you just happy to see me?" Smiling, eyes dancing, hand to the wall and _leaning_ in on the good doctor. All manner of amused.

Shoving back his damp hair, Simon catches his breath, trying to explain. "Kaylee--she--the plumbing--I need a towel. I need several towels." Starting on his way again, then looking hopefully back at Mal. "Did...you want to go in there and help her instead?"

Hands up, backing away, "Ooooh-_ho_, I think not. This is _your_ tub, doctor. You see to it." He pauses, half-turned away, before smirking, "Though, must say, I don't mind seeing you _all wet_." A rather scandalous wink in the doc's direction.

Simon squelching off in his shoes and Mal unexpectedly following him, getting a hand around the back of his neck and kissing him up against the laundry room door. "Fact, don't think you've ever looked so good with clothes actually _on_..." with his voice low and his eyes half-lidded and a touch of color in Mal's cheeks.

He'd been going to give Mal a sarcastic reply in return, but with those words singing over his skin and those lips an inch away from his own, all he finds himself doing is drawing him in closer and _claiming _them. One of his arms around Mal's broad back, _pushing,_ bringing their bodies together and no doubt leaving wet patches on the captain's own clothes.

And the captain makes this.... _sound_. In his throat. Low, muffled, and damp. It's not like before, when Mal had tentatively reached in and let their mouths touch. Nope. _This_ time, the captain's mouth parts, his tongue comes slipping out-- eagerly and with hunger-- nudging between Simon's lips, wriggling past his teeth, _tasting_ good and hot with his hands knotting into Simon's hair, face reddening, eyes squeezed closed.

Mal's _close_, pressed up to him tightly, and he can't get _enough_ of that. Grazing those lips with his own and opening up when Mal wants _more_, Simon pushing his own tongue inside and feeling heat bloom up _everywhere_, his entire body suddenly feverish inside his wet clothes. Moving, barely realizing it, feeling the rub of the door at his back and _Mal _all along his front.

They find the door there-- or, rather, _Simon_ finds the door. And Mal presses him into it, good and firm; his pulse quickens alarmingly, his breath dragged in thick and sharp through his nose: shouldn't, shouldn't, _shouldn't_. Simon was nice. Polite. Mal could very easily take advantage of him. ...That's the _last_ thing he wants to do, get sexed out of _pity_ or because Simon doesn't know how to say '_no_.' He hadn't meant to, it was just the look of him when Simon turned away, this involuntary _color_ rising in the good doctor's pale face from Mal, campily, _winking_ at him. Had the most overwhelming urge to... Mal's hand is tight over the nape of Simon's neck, nails raking lightly as he curls his fingers there against the soft, sensitive skin. Is mouth is wide and wet and parted good and hard over the doc's, _claiming_ with demanding, wet pushes of his tongue.

Stop. Stop. _Stop_. Hard to, with just how... _easily_ Simon opens up for him. _Yields_ to him. Mal's free hand over a shoulder, down the side of Simon's chest, over his warm, indrawn stomach and... he _could_. Simon would _let him_. _Let_ him touch him this way, kiss him, _fuck him_. Mal jerks his head to the side abruptly, breathing in quick and sharp, lips hanging open and eyes closed, brow marred and his hand opening and closing there at Simon's side-- fingernails digging into his own palm.

Simon has on a pullover today, since he dressed with the chore of bathtub-wrestling in mind, and it would be easy as anything to reach back, pull it over his head, and let Mal put that hot, eager mouth on him anywhere he wants. Tease and lick and _suck_ stray beads of water off his skin until Simon can hardly hold himself on his feet any longer. Cloth clenched in his hand, drawing it higher, and Mal's hand is suddenly _directly_ on his bare stomach instead of on the fabric covering it. His head tilting back, solidity of the door against his skull, breathing hard as Mal's hair is soft between his fingers and Mal's body is _freezing_ up abruptly. Nonono_no--_it's been too long since he's had this and if the captain has second thoughts it's just not _acceptable_. Not with the way he's been _baiting_ Simon of late. His fingers hook in a suspenders strap as his mouth kisses a messy trail along Mal's jaw, up to his ear, and it _can't_ be his voice saying things like _don't stop_ and _want you to_ over and over, but it _is_ and he couldn't call a halt to it if he tried.

He can. He can _stop_. Mal has it just on the edge of his control, he's pulling his head back more completely when all of a sudden, there's tension in the straps of his suspenders, there's the doctor's slender, clever fingers all knotted in Mal's hair. He bares his teeth, head tipping back some because Simon is... _smearing_ his mouth up Mal's tight jaw, _breathing_ in a heated rush to... _not. stop_.

Which, wait-- _waitaminute_, since when did Simon...? He hadn't acted like _this_. Not in the infirmary. Hell, he'd barely had a lukewarm reaction at _all_. Now. _Now_. '_Want you to_...' Just '_want you_' is enough for Mal to be seeing _spots_ in front of his vision. One of the captain's strong, tense hands shoots downward, grasp a hold of the laundry room door and shoves it open; his other arm is around the doc's middle before either of them can blink. Ushering him inside, the door snapped shut behind him and Mal _shoves_ Simon up against the solidity of it, head ducked and mouth on that pale, satiny throat, sucking-- _biting_ lightly. Simon has hocked his shirt up some, Mal's touch on _bare skin_ there for a split second. Mal _arches_ against the doc's body, his hand smoothing down the small of Simon's back, and _forcing_ the other to curve against him, breathing out heavily. Audibly. "Should go..." Mumbled. Dazed, but feverish, _heated_. This _isn't_ what Simon wanted. Or, at least, didn't _seem_ like it was a few days ago...

He _knew_, somehow. As much as he'd done to distract himself from being attracted to his walking contradiction of a captain, Mal _still_ picked up on it and didn't see fit to let him _know_ until after Simon and River nearly _died_. And now, now that he's had time to digest that and realize Mal's _clearly_ not averse to taking action, Simon's not thinking at _all._ Mal _bites_ at his throat and _presses_ the two of them together, a hand firm and strong and still _soft_ somehow at the hollow of his back, until there's no chance of the captain not feeling Simon hard and desperate up against him. And he _does_ stop, then. Of course. Second thought, rearing up at the most inopportune moments--Simon knows how that works, as it happens to him all the time. "Go?" Rushed and whispered. He needs to say something before Mal makes assumptions, decides this is Simon's way of giving him a perverse thank you or something equally crass. It's not about being given a job or a bathtub or a home on the run, but he can't for the life of him put to words what it _is_ about.

Both his hands up, fingers spread over Mal's hot face, thumbs brushing against his cheekbones. "It took me...I needed time. That's all." And _crush_ his mouth back over the captain's, teeth grazing skin and breaths wet and shaky--pulling him _in_.

God, he feels wonderful. _Wonderful_. Soft and warm and _responsive_\-- and he's _hard_. Mal doesn't know if it's because of _him_ or from merely being _kissed_ (because as long as _he's_ gone without, he knows Simon has gone on just as long; if not _longer_) so his body is definitely _interested_, fuckfuck_fuck_. Mal's breath hisses in through his teeth, a sort of _whine_ quiet and frustrated from Mal's throat; wants to. Wants to _so badly_. And he feels _so good_, _smells_ just as amazing as he feels. He's always catching himself thinking about doing lewd and unseemly things to their medic, but he can usually _control_ them-- this, however, had taken him off guard. He'd seen Simon looking damp and messy, ruffled and fucking... _sexy_ and he'd just meant to kiss him... just the once. Not end up yanking him into the laundry room and _frot_. The doc's voice is unsteady, sounds somewhat confused, and Mal pulls his head back, frowning, slitting his eyes open, "Yeah, _g--" _The doc's hands on his face, Simon's mouth on his, hard and bruising. Unrelenting. _Demanding_. _Pulling_ him. Time. Just needed _time_.

"D-doc," Mal stutters, grips hold of those slender hips, lines them up and does the exact opposite of what he _should_ be doing: he rolls his hips. _Thrusts_. Can _feel_ Simon hot and ready and _willing_\-- **_hard_**\-- through his clothes and Mal _growls_, _groans_ wantonly. Skim his hand off the other's hip, back up the front of that shirt; he's so damnably _warm_ and Mal wants nothing more than to strip him naked and fuck him. _Right here_. He's panting heavy and harsh, hand on the side of Simon's throat, thumbing over his pulse unsteadily, Mal's eyes are squeezed shut and his lips are redwet, _shuddering_, "So-... someone... someone's gonna notice you're missing and y-... _you_ don't know _what_ you want..." The captain, on the other hand, knows _exactly_ what he wants...

__

_Push_ of the captain's lower body into his own and Simon's breath hitches in his throat. Mal's hot and strong all over and just _feeling_ him touching him, anywhere, throws his mind into a wild tailspin. If Mal really wants him gone, he's doing a terrible job of convincing him. "I can't go back there like this," he says hoarsely, and it's true. Mussed and flushed and _cao_, he just needs to _come_, but he's not saying _that_ out loud. That last accusation, on the other hand..._that_ he doesn't hesitate to answer. "Do you have any idea at _all_ about what I want? Other than keeping River safe and getting a rutting _bathtub_ onboard?" _Gasping_ at the feel of a hand on his bare back, trying to squirm his shirt higher up his body, and he's canting his hips _hard_, legs sliding farther apart so he can fit one of Mal's between them. "You don't know _anything_ about what I've thought of doing to you and how sure I was it wouldn't ever get to happen." Blurted out almost too fast to be intelligible--he can feel his face burning, hides it by ducking to close his teeth high on Mal's neck and _bite_ there just as Mal had done on his own throat.

Everything he'd religiously forced to the back of his mind, all of it's springing free now and he can't just fold it up neatly and lock it away again. Shirt buttons--he's plucking at buttons, mouthing the dip between Mal's collarbones; _nails_ in the back of his neck. "Didn't think you..."

Simon's _teeth_ in his skin has Mal's hips bucking and his hands _clenching_ on the other, groaning roughly and hiccupping for breath because Simon is undoing his shirt, _mouthing_ at bare skin and-- "Oh, did I _ever_..." Think, thought, jerked off to... Simon is _rocking_ against him and Mal fists his hands in the other's hair and lays claim to that mouth again. Shoving his tongue in, along the length of Simon's own before he pulls his head back, panting, blinking rapidly, then... glancing over his shoulder. Mal bites into his bottom lip, looks back to Simon and kisses his mouth again before pulling away. Takes all of a minute to pull wet clothes from the washer-- shove them into the dryer and kick it shut, turn it on, where it rumbles angrily to life. Mal snags Simon by the wrist.

Grab the younger man by the hips and hoist him up, sitting him heavily onto the vibrating, rattling machine and take his face in his hands before slipping his tongue into his mouth, eye him intently when he pulls back. Mal's fingers undoing Simon's trousers as he speaks, "Quiet as you can be for me..."

Mal's larger and stronger than he is, something that's come into play quite a bit when he's relented and let himself _think _about it, but somehow he never imagined the captain pressing his advantage in order to press him onto a _dryer._ Like one of those dorm-room rumors that swept through university, about alternate uses for everyday objects. And _now_, with Mal's fingers working open his pants and the thrum and buzz of the dryer literally being sent _through_ him, he knows he must have a disbelieving look on his face. "Oh, _God_." Not that he has any plans on _complaining. _The captain's always been resourceful. _Quiet_. He can be quiet--has been for long enough--but Mal's a bare inch from touching his _cock_ and he _arches_ up with a small groan.

"Shh," goes Mal, but he's _grinning_. And it's not that playful or teasing or _dry_ grin he usually gives out, nope-- this grin is particularly... _dirty_. A grin that vanishes altogether when he ducks his head to press his mouth against the pale, soft side of Simon's throat, '_mm_'ing long and low as he laps with his tongue and grazes with his teeth, as if it's the most wonderful thing he's ever had the pleasure of passing over his taste buds. The grit of that zipper makes his heart trip up, _speed_ up, and he's working a hand beneath the open V of them instead of pressing them down just yet, feeling the hard-hot outline of Simon's erection through crumpled, damp underwear, sighing thickly as he drags his thumb down the length of it, pressing in at the base.

Simon breathes in sharply, fingers catching in the folds of the captain's shirt, digging in and pulling until Mal's situated snugly between his spread legs and he can press in good and close when he takes his next taste of that still-parted mouth. No room left for Mal to play at _soothing_ him when it's clear that's the last thing on his mind, not with the way one of his hands is slipping into the open fly of Simon's pants and _squeezing_ there. Not even direct contact, and it _still_ makes his hips go thrusting up, his legs trying to _lock_ around the captain and keep him there--all heat and muscle and very, very capable of shaking Simon off like a rag doll if he chose. Which is _isn't._ Fabric bunching up Mal's back, but the suspenders are in the way and he can't _touch_ him until they're gone, but that seems a bit beyond him just now, so he settles for shoving his own and over the captain's wrist and _pressing _there.

Simon, for all that stuffy manner, is a _wonderful_ kisser-- better than Mal had thought he might be, which he's not complaining. Not in the least. After all, one only gets better with practice-- lots and lots of practice, which he'd been fully ready to provide, but he's not disappointed in the least by just being able to _enjoy_ it. Simon _pushes_ against him, legs catching around him-- and _God_, if _that_ isn't sexy as all hell, especially when those pale fingers grasp at his own and forces Mal's grip tighter against the hard heat of him. His head tilted, groaning against that mouth despite his own warning to be _quiet_, quiet, quiet, quiet... Mal pulls his head back, shucks out of his suspenders where his shirt material has gotten all knotted and bunched beneath the straps, eyes down and he's tug-_pulling_ those nice-neat trousers down some, just enough to expose the band of the underwear, work them open and down as much as that sitting position allows.

Suspenders down, Mal's shirt _off_, and before Simon has a chance to put hs hands on any of that bare, smooth skin Mal's own are hooking under the waist of his pants. He hisses, squirms and arches to try and slide them even lower--barricaded away in a laundry room for a quick rut with the captain, and he doesn't have the sense to feel embarrassed about it. It's a wonderful feeling. As is having his thumb flicking open the button of Mal's trousers as his other hand splays flat between the curves of his shoulder blades, bracing there and letting him _curve_ into the touch on his erection. "Anything besides kissing you would've had to kick yourself for not getting a chance to try?" Because he can think of a few, really.

Mal smirks at that, eyes heavy lidded as he leans in, brushes his mouth against Simon's and wraps his hand around the other's exposed cock slow and firm, lips grazing up the jaw, to the redness of Simon's ear. Tongue flickering. "Oh, quite a manner of things... quite a manner..." Thumb up under the head of the other, his free hand gripping the tautness of a still-clothed thigh as Mal ducks his head and _mouths_ just where his thumb had been, deciding he likes that just as much. If not _more_.

Words licking at his ear like a flame, then _actual_ licking, Mal's head ducked between his legs, and Simon's suddenly jolting forward, not that sitting still feels natural with the machine heated and humming under his now mostly _bare_ skin. Unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. "_Sorry_," choked out, because if he _hurts_ Mal somehow and ends this all prematurely he'll never live it down. "Me...me too." His fingers are curling over the short, fine hairs at Mal's nape, skimming over scalp and shoulders and the liquid-graceful shift of muscle. "Never...exactly imagined _this_, but..."

Instead of pulling back to assuage the other with words, Mal just opens his mouth more and ducks his head deeper, tongue along the underside of that hot-silky skin, humming as he... mouths. At first. Then, slowly, begins to suck, as if biding his time, maybe playing it out like he's done so in his head time and time again, with his hand around himself and very alone in his bunk. Truth be told, he hadn't gone into that bathhouse merely to return change as much as he had to get a good look-- no luck, however, with the doc slumping down further in the water and looking pretty determined not to come out any time soon.


	2. The One Where Serenity Gets a Bathtub: Coda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mal begrudgingly comes to accept having a tub on his ship. _Begrudgingly._

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[firefly fic](http://community.livejournal.com/all_very_doable/tag/firefly+fic), [mal/simon](http://community.livejournal.com/all_very_doable/tag/mal/simon)  
  
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_**The One Where Serenity Gets a Bathtub: Coda**_  
**Title:** The One Where Serenity Gets a Bathtub: Coda  
**Fandom:** Firefly  
**Pairing: **Mal/Simon, implied Kaylee/River  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Disclaimer:** We do not own or profit from any of the source material.  
**Summary:** Mal begrudgingly comes to accept having a tub on his ship. _Begrudgingly._   
**Word Count:** 4,064

Mal doesn't like when the medic and the Companion gang up on him. Grousing right up till said medic gets himself soaked and lets Mal drag him into the laundry room to show his appreciation.

And _then _he thinks maybe he can learn to live with a bathtub on board. Hell, might even _get in it_.

Grudgingly. Of course.

And of _course_, whenever Mal figures he might clamber into the tub, everyone in the world wants to come in and sit on the edge of it and jabber at him.

Kaylee coming in to pass her fingers over the surface of the water and explain about this or that when it came to putting in the damn thing. Jayne tromps in to bitch-- at least he doesn't sit. Zoe pokes in for orders. Hell, even _Inara_ walks in on him, only to turn slightly pink and walk right back out. She mentions that she didn't think he was the bubbly bath type. "Well, I'm just _full_ of surprises."

So, he tries to wait until the late, wee hours-- when all good crew are supposed to be _sleeping_. He isn't anywhere near close to admitting that he _likes _habitually getting to bathe. But it's probably getting kind of obvious.

Especially when _Simon_ comes in to perch on the edge. Smirking a little. "Still regretting the investment?"

"I'm starting to, yes." Blank-faced.

"Clearly." Dipping a hand into the water until it grazes Mal's bare knee.

.

Harrumph moodily, but his bare foot goes to the floor of the tub, knee bending up out of the water, settling to the side. Head resting back and an idle finger tracing wetly along the flat, six inch rim. If it weren't so wide, maybe not everyone in the 'verse would wanna come and put their ass on it. He should start rubbing soap over it so they slide off...

Kaylee's made a jaunty little "occupied" sign for the door, and there's also the option of just _locking _it, but he tends to forget. Well, he doesn't _forget_, he's just hoping whoever shows up is medically inclined. And of course, when there's a sleeve of a dress-shirt soaked to above the elbow and a tight-firm hand _gripping _him underwater, it's all worth the preliminaries. If anyone asks, their captain is thriving under hydrotherapy treatment. And lots of good, hard personal supervision.

Mal's soapy fingers along the back of Simon's hand. Thoughtful. Then sitting up. Moving to sit up on his knees, water moving-sloshing around him and he leans out to get a hold of Simon's calf. Pull his leg up and get a finger between the doc's heel and a snug loafer and pry it off. Same treatment for the other, then pausing, knotting a hand in that dark hair and drinking all those not-yet-uttered protests right out of Simon's mouth.

Roll those pants legs up as far as can be managed and tug him about so his feet are in, at least, and Mal can snug-wriggle right back between his knees and rest the back of his head on Simon’s stomach, arms draping thighs. Sighing. "_Now_ m'happy."

Mal all pressed back against him, lazy and limp and Simon with the perfect angle to press his lips to the top of Mal's head and pass his hands down the captain’s front. Taking a moment to roll his sleeves higher, then stopping, tapping Mal lightly on one shoulder. Kissing one ear and murmuring, "Lean in for a second," then just undoing his shirt and taking it off entirely. After all, the less clothes, the less he has to get wet. Mal's not sure if it's for easier access or because his shirt is dry-clean only, but hell...

Of course, when the door flies open _anyway_, Mal nearly gives himself whiplash trying to jerk upright. Only to find River tiptoeing in, wide, dark, liquid-curious eyes and the captain just slumps back against her brother and lets his head loll to the other side, cheek to thigh. Nothing unfit for crazy teenage eyes at all. Nosir.

Simon's hands running up his middle, pausing to squeeze briefly at his shoulders, then threading slowly through his hair. He guesses the doctor's none to comfortable having much below-the-neck contact in front of his sister. Though Mal doesn't make any move to lift his arms from where they're slung over Simon's knees. Keep him in place before he can get any ideas. "River, did you need something?"

River in a flimsy, flowy lilac dress. Easing the door shut. Light-stepping inside. Her head tilted, hair across her face, a small enigmatic smile on her face. "Dirt and bad and scars-- all lined up." Tiptoeing over to the sink still cramped away in the corner and grabbing the soap. Mal's eyes are nearly closed, face flushed some, but he doesn't seem to have any plans on moving. River wanders over, hocking the skirt of her dress up to her hips, straddling the tub's rim. Seated, she hands the soap to her brother and leans in to sniff at the captain's scalp. Pull back to give Simon an expectant look. Head ducking a bit after a moment, eyebrows going high, command-instructing as if he's an idiot, "Wash it away."

Then she doesn't seem all that interested in either of them, lifting her leg from the water, high. Higher still, head cocked as she flexes her foot to a point and watches suds and waters sliding-trickling off her toes.

Mal muttering, "Oh, is that all..."

Feeling Simon sigh as opposed to hearing him. "I will. _Privately._"

Then River’s giving him a sidelong look. Reaching out to pet his damp hair. Halfheartedly, he pretends to bite at her fingers, which has no effect at all. The girl’s been known to take her own turn in the tub fully clothed, claiming it’s sensible to do laundry at the same time. Of course, this also means she’s gone around soaking wet a time or two afterward, up till Simon or Inara could get a robe on her. Jayne had been disturbingly disappointed about that.

She sucks in an exasperated breath, muttering as if she's repeating words from a teacher or parent, "Boys in one area, girls in the other."

"Yes, mei-mei. _Exactly._" Mal tilting his head up to see that _look_ on the doctor's face. Then just tilting it right back down and drowsing against one still-clothed thigh. Might have to do something about that once the peanut gallery's gone.

Pushing her hands to the rim of the tub, one in front of her, one in back of her-- pressing flat. Winds up sitting primly before she's up and wandering to the other side of the room. Dreamily scooping up a towel. "No fun at _all_." Which is a little disturbing, but typical River.

"Hurry, then." With a sigh. "Kaylee and I need the water. The clean water," she reminds. Wandering right back out again, towel dragging on the floor behind her the whole way.

"Maybe I should go lock the door," Simon muses.

Mal's still wrapping his mind around a couple other things. River. _And_ Kaylee. They _have_ been awful close since the tub arrived. Closer than anyone has realized. Possibly his own fault, stealing Simon away from helping Kaylee with the installation process, so River had taken it upon herself to fill in for him. "Maybe you should..."

"Definitely..." as fingers go drifting over his chest.

Mal sitting up lazily, stretching and huffing. Turn his head, wiping damp hair from his brow. "Get the lock."

Press of lips to the crown of his head, then Simon's disengaging, giving a fleeting squeeze to Mal's nape before padding over and locking the door. Eyeing Mal contemplatively, then undoing his belt. "Better?"

Studying the way muscle moves under ivory-pale skin. Supple fingers and the slide of equally supple leather. Mal just smirks. "Never would have thought of Kaylee taking to bed with River. ...Then again." A speculative tilt of his head, just drinking in the sight of Simon-- approving of his growing state of undress. "...Stranger things have happened."

"I wouldn't have either." Belt dropped aside, sound of a zipper being drawn down. Pants already damp in places from Mal's head and back being pressed against them--Simon slides them down, steps out, graceful-easy. "I do think it's good for her...even though maybe I shouldn't." Mal has a feeling the doctor isn't referring exclusively to his sister's love life. But there a pristine white smile getting leveled at him and pristine white underpants with their waistband getting toyed at while Simon makes his way back across the room, and Mal can save that observation for another time.

That decision to finally kiss Simon? He has to look back on that as one of the best decisions. Ever. "It probably is. Though, I'm not sure how I feel about how bold it's made her." She doesn't usually _touch_ him. Doesn't usually wander in looking for naked people or wanting to watch her brother “_was”_ someone, either. Mal moves to the edge of the tub, on his knees this time, the second Simon is close enough he catches a wrist and pulls-- causing the other to sit down heavily. Causing Simon to have to grip at Mal's shoulders as he pulls him over, gets his wet hand in Simon’s hair, takes his mouth firm, wet, and warm.

"All the same, forming a close bond with a peer is a sign of progress." Arms sliding around his shoulders, drawing him closer. Faint splashing of Simon's legs easing back into the water, faint brush of a tongue against his own, and _God_, this boy knows how to make him come undone. Doesn't take much at all. He can only hope it isn't obvious. "An egalitarian relationship is quite possibly the best thing that could happen," Simon continues, soft and smiling, kiss-pressing at Mal's cheek and jaw between words. Still not sure who the doctor's talking about anymore, still not caring enough to ask.

A heavy-quick rush of air through his nose, eyes closed, arms around Simon's middle and it's nothing at all to heft him. Pull him against him completely in the lap-ripple of water and soap and ease back, settle down completely, with Simon against him. _On_ him. Fingers curling against that back, underwater now, smooth-silky-slippery; head ducking to the side to get a taste of the side of Simon’s throat. Warm pulse. Salty skin. Mal hums against it. Mal hums into Simon's mouth as well, with a push of tongue and a sigh.

Slide his hands down, feel over the curve of Simon’s ass, the wet material there now-- lower still, working his fingers up under the backs of them, brushing. Soaked-clinging, move further down those thighs and back up again, where the elastic waistband is pulled at. Played with.

Dip his fingers under the wet-clinging cloth, feeling over hips and thighs as he's sighing deeply. _Relaxing. _At least two-thirds of what bathing _is_, really. Mapping the curve of the doctor's spine with his hands, the jut of his collarbone with his tongue, feeling over smooth-wet skin and hiking that one remaining garment _lower_. Letting his knuckles rub against an inner thigh, tease-skimming, and he can _feel_ the way that makes the kid shudder. "Mmm..." mumble-hummed, low and content.

Simon with his head back, spine curving in, eyes closed and hands flexing over Mal's shoulders; a slow push-roll of his hips under the surface of the water. Just to feel himself slide and slip against the solidity of Mal's body-- skin and muscle and scar. Head dropping forward to rest on the back of his own hand, fingers squeezing, wetting his lips and parting his thighs a little more. And that satisfied sound vibrating in the captain's chest. When he first laid eyes on Mal, the word “sexy” hadn't exactly sprung to mind. Now, however...

Mal just angles his head, slides his fingers through dampened dark hair, and lightly takes that bottom lip into his mouth, sucking carefully before releasing him. Working that underwear off--get them out of the way, get him _bare_. Grinning against an ear, then trailing his tongue across it. Simon Tam in nothing but his skin and a healthy sheen of debauchery. He doesn't believe he ever thanked the doctor properly for suggesting a tub in the first place. This will just have to do. Simon's legs parting all over again--place his hands there, guide the doctor to keep right on with it--can _tell _the kid's hard already, even without dispersing the bubbles--then daring to gently drag his thumbnail up the underside of his erection.

A sharply indrawn breath as Mal's tongue goes sweeping over his ear-- damnable Malcolm Reynolds. The captain who came back for him. Stalked him in bathhouse. Kissed him in his infirmary. Thoroughly soiled him in the laundry room. Loved each and every second of it-- nails in Mal's skin, hips jerking forward, hissing softly and murmur-drawing out Mal's name. A single, pale hand of his own sneaking down the captain's middle, petting over his chest, thumb over a nipple, index finger over abdomen, same finger along the side of a thigh.

Simon swallows down a perfectly decadent groan that's got Mal's name wrapped up in the middle if it, and _that _just won't do. Fold his fingers around that hadened flesh, rubbing firmly under the head with the pad of his thumb, just waiting it out. Petstroking down the middle of that pale, water-beaded body, then lazily drawing his hand around to the small of the doctor's back and giving it the same treatment. _Tighten _his hand just a little bit to make the boy squirm, Mal's eyes determined not to miss a second of that pretty face going slack and desperate. A quick smile, a quicker kiss, there at the corner of Simon's half-open mouth. Murmuring, "You can go right on ahead making noise,"

Simon's mouth hanging open, eyes closed tight, fluttering open for a second until that hand _tightens_. One hand stroking his cock beneath the surface of that warm, warm (_everythingwarm_) water and the other just flat stroking _him_. His breath sucks in sharp, a gasp, body shivering, shivering right on into a hard shudder. Teeth in his bottom lip, _whining_. _'Quiet as you can be for me...'_ When the captain had him up on the _dryer_. Had his trousers ringed around his ankles, had his _mouth_ on him. Contrast now. _Asking_ him for all those sounds he'd fought so hard to keep back before. Person most likely to hear is River and it's not like she'd care or be shocked.

Mal's hands are strong, work-rough and calloused, and feel soso_so_ unbearably _good_. "_Mal_..." In that same whimper-whining voice. He wants to touch him back. Grip him and give back in return, but not just yet. Not when he's so dazed and unfocused, not when he can't make it as good as Mal is making this for him. Wants to make it _good_. His arms around the captain's neck, fingernails digging in at the nape, at the back of a shoulder, hips rolling forward, water lapping against him. Simon moans, low and unsteady.

Using his nails because his fingers slip-- wet and slippery-soapy. Their chests sliding just as slickly. No real friction at all save for where Mal's got his hand good and tight around the very rutting core of him. _Core_ of him. _Hah_. A hysterical bubble of laughter followed by another ragged gasp and groan.

"Yeah, that's a start." Egging him own, slow and steady, matching the movement of his hand. Rile him up, little by little, just to watch him break apart--breathing hard and _writhing, _slick-wet-_beautiful, _half-on and half-off Mal's lap. He's all contrasts: too-white skin, eyes and hair gone dark from lust and water; uttering vulnerable little gasps for breath while neat-clipped nails go biting into Mal's skin and cause him to hiss through his teeth. Loosen up, just for the time being--take his hand off the boy's cock and spread both palms firm-wide over those slim hips, use his tongue to _press _that mouth open and _suck _firmly.

Mal hisses and Simon _moans_, holds him tighter, thrusts up against him. Tries to bury his face against Mal's throat, hands flexing, shudder-shifting. Toes slipping along the bottom of the tub, searching for purchase. Mal grasping his hips, hefting him closer, _consuming_ and Simon makes all the noise in the world, then. Straight into Mal's mouth.

__

_That''_s what he wants to hear. Losing it--Simon squirming and sighing righy up against him, clutching and losing his grip again and again. _Moaning_. Doesn't do that often enough, doesn't let _go_, and Mal doubts he'll ever get tired of counting these victories. Easy to use the buoyancy to his advantage--brace and _lift_ until Simon's settled back on the edge of the tub and Mal's back between his legs. Only _this _time, there's no clothing in the way and he's facing the other direction--and goes about making that advantage crystal-clear by smoothing both hands up those lithe, tense legs and groaning a little himself as he takes Simon into his mouth--_nice_.

Whimpering when Mal pulls his mouth away, wet-hot and shiny-slick and Simon wanting to follow, his own lips parted. Parting even more so around a surprised gasp because the captain _literally_ lifts him up out of the water. A hand smacking wetly to the tub's rim, his other gripping the captain's shoulder, he at least is able to brace with a foot. A foot that has its toes curling under the water because Mal smoothes his touch up his legs, parts him open, swallows him down with the barest shock of vibration and Simon cries out. Hands in Mal’s hair, tight, _trembling_. "_Ooh_\--" Dark, damp hair falling back, some strands sticking to his face and brow when his head falls back, Adam's apple bobbing. God, that's incredibly good. Hot, tight, _wet_\-- wetter _still_, a different kind of slickness altogether and Simon fights not to _push_. Tense-taut from the effort and making a sob for breath.

He _loves _that. Loves the way Simon _pushes _into him, broken-up and needy, the way all these lovely-strained sounds fight their way free of him. If he _could_, he'd love to bend him over the tub's edge, lick-bite-_mark _his way up that arching back and fuck him right here and now. Instead, Mal keeps his head bent, eyes closed in concentration, there where Simon is hard and spit-wet and _thrusting _lightly. Holding back a little, even now, and _Mal _is the one who whines.

Sucking steady-- Mal's mouth wrapped around him, shivering hard and muscles in his thighs quivering, can't shove, can't _jerk_, but Mal makes it damn appealing. Nails against scalp, down over the nape, Mal's name coming out of him in a strangled, twisted mess. Feet flexing against the tub bottom, back curved in and head back and Simon crying out and shuddering over that edge, shuddering into Mal's mouth and trying to keep a grip on him at the same time. Spots behind his eyes, mouth hanging open and eyes squeezed shut tight. Slipping on the rim of the tub and somehow trying to pull the captain closer to him. If nothing else, definitely nothing _River_ needed to be privy to.

So much for baths being cleansing, because the way Simon _clings _to him as he gasps and shakes and _comes _isn't anything but utterly filthy. Utterly _perfect_. His name caught up in that strained, _desperate _voice while Simon is _scratching _down the back of his neck almost hard enough to hurt--doesn't matter. Not now, while he's resting his head against one of those nicely spread thighs for a few moments before sliding an arm around the doctor, encouraging him to slide back into the water.

And he does. Loosely. Limply. Arms around Mal's shoulders and his face buried into one of them, hands flexing weakly, focusing on leveling his breathing. Steadying his heartbeat. Mal is hotter against him than the water around him. Hotter, more inviting. His throat feels tight still and he swallows convulsively to work it out. So stupidly sweet Mal can't even be smug about it, just lets him drowsily hold on and get his head back.

Simon picks up his head when he can manage it, pressing them damply to Mal’s jaw. Hands over Mal's shoulder blades, down his back, just pressing against him this way a whole different kind of pleasure in itself. Makes him want to stretch and _purr_ if he could. Just _curls _against him as well as he can, palming down his back and kissing under his chin. Slack-clumsy and wonderfully _undone._ Mal's lips on that wetwarm forehead. "Think you're about as clean as you're gonna get."

He grins, slow and lazily, tilting his head up until he can see Mal’s face fully. Pressing a palm to the side of that face and leaning in to get a good, thorough taste of him. Of the captain and the lingering hint of himself, as well. Not that it mattered. Not when he was squirming up against the other and petting a single finger down Mal's torso. Sigh-humming, hand vanishing under the water, pale, strong fingers feeling him out and palming flatly along the underside of Mal's erection, twisting around to repeat the same, feeling Mal’s stomach draw in against the back of his hand. Grip him. Firmly. _Squeezing_. Almost mumble-slurred, "Think m'quite all right with that..."

Mal’s breath hitches, draws in sharply when Simon smiles angelically up at him and _touches_. Still muzzy and slow, as if he's still half-asleep and can't quite bring himself to step out of bed. Bed. Where he'd _like_ to tote this dripping-wet doctor right about now, if he thought he stood a chance of telling him to stop what he's currently doing. Mal's eyes nearly closed, hips _surging _up into that teasing sensation, lips at Simon's temple. Kissing, catching on strands of short black hair. "Next time this happens, 'm gonna just bend you over the side and see how you handle it."

Listen to that catching breath, feel the tension that ripples and surges against him. Simon working himself up onto his knees, sighing Mal's name into his mouth, petting his free hand through the thick, sandy damp-gone-dark hair. The strength of him _pushing_ against him, and Simon turns his head to the side some, eyes closed and mouth open, huffing, as if the mere idea alone would be getting him hard all over again if it were possible _right_ this second. A soft, quiet little groan against the side of Mal's heated face, tightening his grip and using a thumb to rub-slide slickly, aided by the water, over the head of him. Tighter still, quick-fast downstroke, slow-paced upstroke. Just _feel_ him.

It doesn’t take but a minute. Curving into Simon’s grip and letting that hand jerk him off under the water, all while the doctor is _smiling _into the crook of Mal’s neck—another one of those very un-Simon things that has makes Mal’s face go hot and his words go stupid. Gets him thinking maybe he can actually _adapt_ to being stupid in Simon’s presence on a regular basis. Clenching teeth, clenching _everything_, hands spread hard-wide over the doctor’s slick-shifting back, Mal’s mouth wet and wide and _groaning _against the hot arch of an ear. Hell. Already adapted to the damn tub, so might as well…

Slumping back against the lip of it when all’s said and done, an idiotic smile on his face right up until Simon’s mouth slides over it and another low moan leaks free. Smoothness of Simon’s chest flush with his, stomachs grazing, a leg slipping between his own and arms slipping around his middle, loosely locking the two of them together. Fingertips trailing across his cheekbone, gentle and undeniably wrinkled. Mal wrinkles his nose. Disentangles himself. Jab the button that turns off the heater, another that drains the thing, then lever himself up and out, groping around for a towel. Doesn’t take much time before the doctor’s following suit, face stretching around a yawn.

Still dazed enough to only look slightly mortified when River reappears the second they’re both out the door.

“Clean as you’re gonna get,” is all she murmurs, and sidles right on by.


End file.
